Matchmaker 05: May

"Goddammit," I muttered as I began walking toward her. "If I split enough wood for tonight, will you wait until I talk to Brooklyn to see if we can reach a compromise?"

She stepped back and pushed a feather of hair out of her eyes. "You split enough wood for tonight, and I don't care what you do, but I'll cook your dinner so you won't go hungry."

I wasn't dressed for this, wearing dress pants, loafers, and a tailored shirt, but I didn't have anything more suitable here. Hell, I didn't have anything more suitable in my closet at home.

"Fine. How many?"

"Six or eight logs will get us through until morning. Unless you want to split wood again first thing in the morning, when it's cold, I'd do ten or so."

"After this, we'll go call Brooklyn and find out why she thought this was a good idea."

Michelle smiled as she pulled off the thick leather gloves and handed them to me. "Because it is."

Garret had obviously never done a hard day's work in his life, at least not physical work. It was almost funny watching him swing the maul. I watched, debating on giving him a few pointers, afraid he was going to cut his leg off or otherwise maim himself, but equally afraid if I said he was doing it wrong he would come after me with the maul.

He was splitting the wood, but he was doing it with brute strength rather than finesse. Then he'd split his shirt, a long rip appearing along the shoulder seam.

"Fuck," he snarled, fingering the hole. I saw the explosion coming as his face hardened. "Fuck this mother-fucking shit!" he bellowed as grabbed his shirt, shredding it as he ripped it off, before flinging it away in a fit of rage.

He glared at me shirtless, his eyes silently accusing me as he panted in effort. I didn't care, and I hoped he ripped his pants next. Brooklyn had warned me that Garret could be an asshole, but sweet Jesus, he was a seriously hot asshole. I could tell when I first saw him standing at the door he was packing some goods beneath his tailored shirt, but I'd had no idea. He clearly worked out and was seriously ripped. Tall with broad, thick shoulders, bulging arms, clearly defined pecs, and a washboard stomach. The man had it all.

"I fucking hate this shit!" he bellowed again, grabbing the maul and swinging it down so hard, grunting as he did so, I was afraid he was going to split the platform the log was sitting on as well.

"You need to calm down before you hurt yourself," I said softly.

"Why the fuck do you care?" he growled as he tossed the wood aside, picked up another log, and slammed it down on the stump. "You claim to fucking love this shit!"

I could split wood, though I'd never claim it was easy or fun work, but he tossed the wood around like match sticks. "Because I don't want to have to rush you to the hospital after you bury the maul in your leg."

"What the fuck is a maul?"

"The thing in your hand."

"The axe? At least then I'd have a room that was warm without having to chop this fucking wood, and I wouldn't have to cook either." I couldn't help it and began to snicker. "You think this shit is funny?" he demanded.

"No, but you are. You'd rather cut off your damn leg than cook."

He glared at me for a moment, but then his face softened and he began to chuckle. He whirled the maul around and stuck it in the splitting log. "Have I mentioned I hate this shit?"

"In the last thirty-seconds? No."

He shook his head and sighed. "Fuck. Do you really like this shit?"

"Splitting wood? No, not really, but—"

"Good, because if you did, you're batshit crazy," he interrupted.

"But being out here, away from everyone and everything, surrounded by growing things? Yeah, I think I'm going to enjoy this."

He shook his head. "This sucks." He jerked the maul from the stump.

"Want a few pointers to make it easier?"

"Pay someone to come do this?"

I snickered again. "Easier, not easy."

"Sure."

I spent ten minutes showing him how to swing the maul, so he relied less on strength and more on technique, and how to read the wood to know how to turn the log so it would split the easiest. By the time he'd split all the wood we'd need for tonight and tomorrow morning, he'd developed his rhythm. I could tell he wasn't working nearly as hard and was letting the tool do the work. I was slightly envious of his strength. About fifty percent of the time I had to hit the log twice for it to split, but once I showed him how to read the grain, he powered through the wood with ease every time. I nodded in approval. He was a quick learner, plus I got a show of watching his muscles work. The only downside was he didn't split his pants.

"Shit," he grunted, sticking the maul into the splitting log. "That's a hell of a workout."

I nodded. "Beats going to the gym any day, plus wood heat warms you four times." He looked at me curiously. "Once when you cut it, once when you split it, once when you haul it, and once when you burn it."

"Yeah, I can see that. Now I have to carry it to the house?"

"Yeah. I'll help. The owner has a cart for that."

"You know the owner?" he asked we piled the wood into the large wheeled firewood cart.

"Nope, but everything we need is here."

"Except someone to split all this fucking wood."

I grinned. "Almost everything we need," I amended.

The cart made moving the wood easy, the rubber tires allowing us to bring it right to the fireplace without marring the beautiful hardwood floors.

"That's it?" he asked as we stacked the last of the wood into the holder by the fireplace.

"That's it. You want to change?"

"Yeah. I think I'll shower too. Want to join me?"

I grinned. He was a cocky shit, but with him standing there, shirtless and covered in bits of wood, he had reason to be. It was tempting. "Whoa there, tiger. I need more than you splitting some wood before you get that," I teased, recalling what I'd said a couple hours earlier. "But I think all that work to keep me warm deserves a kiss."

I stepped in and kissed him. When he tried to escalate the kiss I backed away, and he let me. I smiled at him. At least it didn't appear he was going to be handsy or try to force me. "Easy, tiger. We just met."

He grinned. "Tiger, huh?"

"What can I say?" I asked and purred at him as I bared my teeth and hooked my fingers into claws.

"I know another way to warm you up, and it's a hell of a lot more fun than splitting wood."

"Yeah, I bet you do."

While he was in the shower, I laid out his clothes, mostly as an excuse to stay close in case he saw me. When he was well into his shower, I peeked through the bathroom door. The shower door was mottled, but I could make out his basic shape... and as I suspected, there was absolutely nothing wrong with his shape.

I was at the table, sipping tea, when he appeared, dressed in the clothes I'd laid out. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Laying out my clothes."

I shrugged. "I caused you to rip your shirt. I figured it was the least I could do."

"Ready?"

I sighed. I really did want to spend the month in this incredibly beautiful cabin. If I were to design my dream home, it would be very much like this. "I guess."

He surprised me by opening my door to the Tahoe before walking around to the driver's side and sliding behind the wheel. "I hope I can find my way back here."

I typed on the center display. "The car knows," I said, showing him the address displayed on the screen.

We drove toward Lolo leisurely. "You really enjoy being out in the boonies?" he asked.

"I think so, yeah."

"So you don't live off the grid at home?"

"No, and obviously you don't."

He chuckled. "Obviously. What do you do?"

"For a living?"

"Yeah."

"I have a tulip farm."

"A tulip farm? Really?"

"Yeah. Michelle Abbot Tulips. I have about a hundred acres under cultivation near Clear Lake, in the Skagit Valley. You know where that is?"

"Yeah, about an hour north of Seattle. That's where I live."

"Seattle?"

"Yeah." He looked at me and smiled. "Since we're both from Seattle, more or less, what the hell are we doing way the hell out here in Montana?"

I shrugged. "You can ask Brooklyn when you talk to her. So what do you do in Seattle?"

"I'm the president and CEO of a software company."

"Microsoft?" I teased.

He chuckled. "Hardly. You've probably never heard of us, but someday, you will."

"Oh? What's the name of your company?"

"It's not my company, I'm just the hired gun. The guy who started the company is a certified genius, but he's a terrible businessman. Anyway, the company is called CCSC Software."

"And what does CCSC Software do?"

"CCSC stands for Computerized Contextual Spell Checking, and we're developing a contextual spell checker. We're getting close, and now we've got some of the big boys sniffing around, interested in our technology. Microsoft, Google, Apple. One day soon, the company will be worth billions."

"Contextual spell checker? What's that?"

He shrugged. "You know how if you're typing you can type 'hand' when you meant 'had,' or 'level' when you meant 'lever,' 'clam' instead of 'calm,' 'hoard' and 'horde,' or 'lock' and 'loch,' things like that? Current spell checkers won't catch those types of spelling errors because both words are spelled correctly, only the context makes the spelling incorrect. Our software uses advanced heuristic analysis to decode the context of the sentence, so we can catch most of those types of spelling errors. If you count our false positives as incorrect, because they are, our success rate is about eighty percent. Our goal is ninety-five percent or better."

I nodded. I didn't understand what heuristic analysis was, but I was well aware of the problem he was talking about. "That would be amazing."

He nodded. "Yeah, I think so. It's why I signed on." He glanced at me. "So, what do you do with a hundred acres of tulips?"

"Sell them. I have a website and ship all over the country, and occasionally, around the world. I have some hybrids that nobody else does."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I developed them myself. Not only do I raise the tulips, I also breed new varieties. I'm working on my Ph.D. in Floriculture. I've done my project and submitted my thesis. My thesis was on a new technique I've developed for breeding desired traits in tulips."

He watched me a moment, perhaps seeing me in a new light. "Okay. So not just a flower farmer?"

I smiled. "No, though I do love working with growing things. Tending my farm gives me such a feeling of peace and accomplishment."

"I've never heard of a floriculturist before."

"It's a subset of horticulture that deals with flowering and ornamental plants."

He nodded slowly. We were coming into Lolo when he looked at me. "Sorry about my outburst earlier."

"When you were expressing your displeasure with splitting wood?"

He nodded again. "Yeah. Among others."

"It's okay. I sometimes say the same things when working with computers."

He chuckled. "Yeah, me too." He pulled to a stop in a food market and checked his phone. "Good, I have a signal." I sat in silence as he dialed and lifted the phone to his ear. "Brooklyn, Garret Lemay."

He paused a moment. I hoped he'd put the call on speaker so I could hear what Brooklyn had to say, but he didn't, so all I could hear was his half of the conversation.

"No, nothing wrong except for the location. What were you thinking?" Pause. "You did know the cabin is heated by wood, right? That someone has to go out and split that sh... split wood every day?" Pause. "No, that's not going to fly. Find something else." Pause. "I don't give a shit about the money, I'm not living in a—" Another pause, longer this time. "Maybe, but you sure as hell didn't tell me I'd be chopping wood!" There was another long pause. "Look, you work for me and I'm telling you I'm not staying in the cabin!" Pause. "Fine. Fuck you very much," he growled before he ended the call. "Bitch," he muttered to nobody.

"What?"

He glared at me. "Brooklyn said I agreed to the accommodations and she wasn't changing them. She said she was busy working with other clients and didn't have the time right now."

"Did you?"

"Probably, but I sure as hell wouldn't have had I known what she had in mind."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I can't talk you into doing something else? I don't care about the cabin. How about we go back to Seattle? I'll put you up in a nice—"

"No. I want to stay here."

He glared at me. "You didn't set this up with Brooklyn?"

"No. Why would I? How would I know what you like or don't like? Even if I did, why would I suggest something you'd hate just to piss you off?"

I didn't tell him the part where Brooklyn told me not to let him bully me into doing anything I didn't want to do. I didn't want to leave the cabin, so I wasn't. He alternately glared at me and out of the windshield of the SUV, clearly thinking his situation over.

"It's the cabin or nothing?" he asked, his voice firm.

"I'm sorry. If you want to leave, I understand. No hard feelings. I'll pay for the cabin rental."

"Shit," he muttered softy. "Fine."

I smiled. I was actually glad. "Am I cooking or splitting wood?"

He softened even more. "Cooking. I'll split the damned wood. Even if I said I'd do the cooking, it'd probably be inedible, and we'd still starve."

My smile spread. "Then we need to go shopping. We need more supplies so we don't have to keep running into town."

"I need to get some shirts so I don't ruin all of the ones I brought. Pants too. And I guess some boots or something."

"You could split the wood shirtless. I won't complain."

He grinned. Between his body, his large dark eyes, rich brown hair with streaks of blond worn long in a messy-sexy style, and his classically masculine features, he was a mouth-watering combination of movie star and premier athlete. We both knew he was a stud-muffin, so there was no point in pretending he wasn't.

"You wouldn't?" he asked, and I shook my head. "I will if you will."

"Split wood shirtless? You're on!"

"I split wood shirtless, but you have to do your chores shirtless."

I felt a tingle of excitement. He was onto the loophole, but it might still be worth it. "I'll think about it."

He pulled the vehicle into gear. "You do that and let me know what you decide. Now, since this is your idea, you have to find me a place to buy some wood splitting clothes."

I pulled out my phone and began to search, barely able to contain my smile. A month, alone in that beautiful cabin tucked into the forest, with someone that looked like him? Hell yeah, so long as he wasn't a total dick, I'd let him split me with his wood, and often.

I was placing a new log on the splitting block when I heard the grumble of an approaching truck. I'd started splitting wood after breakfast and had been going at it steady for a couple of hours. I normally hit the gym every day, but there was no gym around, so I was using this as a substitute. I'd already split and stacked enough wood to last us several days, but I was going to keep at it. I could feel the burn in places I normally didn't, and I wanted to work those muscles hard while I had the chance.

Glad for any excuse to take a break, I set the maul, not an axe, as I'd learned, into the stump and walked around the corner of the stable, shrugging back into my shirt as I did. I didn't have to worry about splitting the seams in this one, but I'd worked up sweat and had taken it off.

A large, red Dodge truck with a trailer behind eased to a stop on the gravel pad.

"You Lemay?" the older man asked as he stepped out of the truck.

"Yeah. And you are?"

The man was probably about sixty-five, grizzled, with a grey beard that was likely three or four days old. He looked like a man that had done a lot and seen more. "Curt Beechen. I own this place."

Michelle appeared from the cabin, skipped down the two steps, and walked toward us. "I was under the impression we'd rented this cabin."

"You did. From me. Here are the horses."

"What horses?"

"You didn't know about the horses?" he asked as Michelle stopped at my elbow.

I looked at Michelle and she shrugged. "No."

"You rented these as well."

"I did?"

Curt looked at me like I was stupid. "Didn't your secretary tell you about any of this?"

"My secretary?"

Curt looked at the sky like I was trying his patience. "The lady that rented the place for you."

"Brooklyn?"

"Yeah, that's her. She arranged for a pair of horses and said she wanted them delivered today." His eyes narrowed. "You know anything about horses?"

"I do," Michelle said, stepping away from my elbow and walking to the trailer. She stepped onto the running board thing attached to the fender in front the wheels and stretched to look inside. "Oh! They're beautiful!"

That seemed to satisfy Curt. He turned to the trailer and I followed. "I'll come check on them every couple of days. I expect these animals to be well cared for or that ten-thousand-dollar deposit won't mean shit. You mistreat these animals and I'll come back here and kick your ass myself, understand?"

Curt glared at me. Michelle must have seen the anger in my face over his threat because she stepped in front of me.

"We'll take good care of your horses, Mister..." she said, cutting me off before I could tell this old fucker where he could shove his horses.

"Beechen, ma'am," he said touching the brim of his cowboy hat. "See that you do and there won't be no problems."

I was still seething as Curt jerked on the handles to open the rear doors. As he swung the doors open, Michelle glared at me and shook her head in warning before squeezing into the trailer. She began stroking first one horse, then the other.

"The biggest problem you're going to have, Mr. Beechen, is how much I'm going to spoil them."

Curt softened more as he watched her. "I doubt you can spoil them more than my daughter does. She's probably about your age."

"Did I hear you say this is your place?" Michelle asked as she and Curt backed the horses out of the trailer.

"Yeah. I haven't been up here in a couple of years, not since my wife took ill. She don't get out much anymore, since her arthritis has gotten so bad, but we used to come up here every summer," Curt explained as they led the horses to the stable and made them comfortable inside.

"I'm sorry to hear that, but thank you for renting us the cabin... and the horses."

"You're welcome. I figured if I wasn't using it, might as well let someone else enjoy it. That Brooklyn gal, I don't know how she knew I was thinking about renting it, but once she talked to me, she wouldn't take no for an answer." He looked down. "The money will help with the medical bills."

"We'll take good care of the place, and the horses."

He nodded, taking one of the horses by the leather strap around its nose. "This here is Penny," he said, stroking the nose of the smaller of the two horses. I could see where it got its name as its coat was almost the color of an old penny. "She's a good ol' girl, but she needs a firm hand, and she loves to run."

He released the first horse and stepped over to the second. The horse brought its nose close to his face and he rubbed it slowly. It was obvious he loved these horses, and they loved him in return. "This one here is Shamrock."

She wasn't green, so I didn't understand the name.

"She's lucky?" Michelle guessed.

"You might say that. She was breech. We had a hell of a time getting her turned and almost lost her."

"You poor thing," Michelle cooed to the animal as she stroked its face.

"I brought feed up last week. Tack too. You know how to saddle a horse?"